Stranded
by Lost Agent
Summary: When the Senior officer of an imperial guard regiment leaves a military failure, he leaves behind 6 highly trained soldiers


The assistant looked sheepishly up at the Officer. "Sir, we're losing communication with Platoon One, two, four, five..."

"Understood, This operation is a failure. We're pulling out."

"Sir, what about the remaining squads,there's still E4, the forest to the east, there may be more..."

"Private, look out through the periscope." The assistant looked through the scope. All he could see was carnage, explosions, bodies and death. He felt like puking. The Senior Officer put his hand on the assistant's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, but nobody could survive that. We have no choice."

"I understand sir." The assistant turned off the transmitter and packed it away. He took the box and placed it in the Chimera. He climbed in and took one final look at Base Alpha. A single tear fell from his eye. The chimera's engine roared, drowning out the explosions. Soon, Base Alpha was deserted, and any survivors left to die.

5 Km into E4

The figure wandered further and further into the forest. He adjusted his bolter and looked around. His skin was itchy under his power armour, as it had been since he first followed Typhus into the warp. "Clear." he said into his comms. He coughed loudly. Something rustled in the bushes. He turned around. There was nothing there. He wandered further into the forest. More rustling. He grew sweaty. He was freaking out. The Death Guard trooper fired a round through the overgrowth.

No response. "Ah, calling for assistance, I think there are guardsmen here."

The response was cold and harsh, one befitting a space marine corrupted by chaos.

"If you cannot confirm enemies in the vicinity, return to base,"

"Understood." The Death Guard trooper coughed loudly. He turned and took a step. Now he definatley heard rustling. He turned once more. A flash of light struck him in the eye. He stumbled, fell and lay still. The bush stood up, and this bush was followed by another and another, until six bushes were standing in the clearing.

"Good shot, Jenkins," said one of the bushes. It pulled off the hood off its ghillie suit.

"Thank you Sergeant, sir." The six ghillie clad soldiers stood over the body.

"Thompson, set up your vox, we've arrived at our destination."

"Yes sir." Thompson opened the black trunk and pulled out an antenna. He looked at Sargeant Fisher. He had black hair, with slight stubble. He had a large scar on the right side of his face, but Thompson had never dared to ask what it was from.Jenkins was the best shot in the squad. He was short, had brown hair and kept to himelf. Peters was the medic, the compassionate one, always ready to help. He had black hair, and it was cut to a crew cut. Johnson had curly black hair, was always needing to borrow something but was a good shot and map reader. Finally, there was Cutter, the special weapon guy. He held a plasma gun, but was proficent in melta weaons, flamers, 'nades and emplacements. He was a little weird, but was friendly if you knew him well. So this was his new squad. Thompson thought back to his old squad. The slaughter that had decimated them. The bloodshed, the bodies, Freddy's face, frozen in pain. Thompson had lain in that trench, two centimetres from Freddy's face, for five hours.

"Thompson!" Fisher's voice interrupted the painful memories, "Are you installing that vox or not?"

"Sorry sargeant. Will do." Thompson continued setting up the vox. He tried all channels over and over again.

"Sir, no luck."

"Try harder."

"Sir, Base Alpha is down."

"Then try other squads, Thompson."

"Yes, sir." Thompson started trying the squad channels.

"Static, sir." Fisher looked around.

"Johnson, scout up this hill. We'll meet at 1600 hours." Fisher gave him his binoculars. "Keep down."

"Will do, sir." Johnson crept up the hill.

"Rest of you, set up our camp. This is now Field Base Alpha." Thomson pulled out a foldable table and chair from his pack and unfolded them. He set up his vox station on the table, sat down, and continued changing and trying channels. Jenkins pulled out four posts and pushed them into the ground. Everybody took off their ghillies and made them into a roof. Peters set up an operating table and pulled out his tools. Cutter dug three emplacements into the camp as the fourth side was built into the hill. The sargeant cut down trees to make walls. Soon, their camp was ready.

"Sir," asked Jenkins "What do we do now?"

"We wait, Jenkins," said Fisher, unscrewing the lid off his flask, "We wait..."


End file.
